


Berthroom Games

by Ratchet_the_whambulance



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Double Penetration, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ratchet_the_whambulance/pseuds/Ratchet_the_whambulance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tailgate had set up the rules for this session, he would be in charge, and Cyclonus and Whirl were both eager to comply."</p>
<p>Tailgate directs his lovers through a night of fun in the berth. The goal? Tire them out with as many overloads as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Berthroom Games

Tailgate had set up the rules for this session, he would be in charge, and Cyclonus and Whirl were both eager to comply. The minibot usually took charge during their time in the berth together, but his larger lovers could never bring themselves to complain. Tailgate was attentive, and he always made sure the experience was mutually beneficial.

It had taken a lot of effort to get to this level of trust with one another with Cyclonus being as reclusive as he was and Whirl being, well, Whirl, but they made it work. 

For this particular session, Tailgate decided he’d rather watch for a bit and enjoy the sight of his lovers pleasuring one another. He was sitting in a chair at the other side of the room, visor glowing as he watched the other two mechs writhe around on the berth. Whirl had his servos cuffed above his head, back-struts arching at an awkward angle. Tailgate couldn’t see his face behind his chasis, but the strangled moans and mewling spoke let him know exactly how much he was actually enjoying this.

Whirl keened, his thighs shaking and clenching around Cyclonus’ helm. The purple jet was hunched down at the end of the berth, his helm planted firmly between the ex-wrecker’s quivering thighs, faceplates pressed to the leaking valve in front of him. Cyclonus moaned into the puffed folds when the false spike in his own port increased it’s speed. 

Tailgate had picked up the rather sizeable false spike at one of the planets the Lost Light had stopped on, and the minibot had saved it for a night like this. He had ordered Cyclonus to prepare himself earlier in the night, visor lighting up with glee when Cyclonus finally lowered himself upon it. The spike stretched his valve rather wide, the rim straining to take each inch, but the burning sensation was tolerable, even pleasurable (although he would never admit it). He felt so full, something he hadn’t felt for millennia, the spikes ridges dragging across his nodes every time he shifted his hips. His biolights pulsed harder, and his spike thumped against the capl.

He was prepared to ride the false spike, but instead Tailgate had ordered him to close his panel, effectively trapping the false spike within his valve. Cyclonus shuddered at the idea, a gush of lubricant slipping out and down his thighs to join the increasing puddle on the berth, and did as Tailgate commanded.

“Good, now go assist Whirl. I want to see you put that mouth to use.” Tailgate motioned to the tied wrecker, and that was where they were now. Whirl tried to lift his hips to grind against Cyclonus’ faceplates, but the purple jet held his slim hips firmly in place. Whirl didn’t expect Cyclonus to be this good at eating valve considering the whole “no cheeks” thing, but damn was the jet driving him crazy. He more than made up for it by gently nibbling on his swollen node, occasionally giving in a firm lick. He slurped noisily whenever lubricant leaked out, trying to drink up as much of the fluid as possible. The jet flushed when he felt it dribble out of his cheeks. It was a good thing Whirl couldn’t see him now, he would have laughed about the whole thing. 

“C-Cyclonus! Don’t stop, I’m-” Whirl shouted when Cyclonus shoved his glossa between wet folds, using his thumb to rub tight circles over his external node. Whirl desperately wanted to grab those horns when Cyclonus began licking into him as far as his glossa could reach, barely grazing his deepest nodes, and hold the mech in place as he chased his own overload. This was so frustrating! Cyclonus was such a tease, and he wanted something else inside him, something bigger that could reach those untouched nodes, but he couldn’t do anything about it, not unless Tailgate told them to. Cyclonus bit at the rim and gave the swolen node a hard tug, toppling the copter into overload.

Cyclonus practically whined into Whirl’s valve when the he did, lubricant flooding into his mouth and again dribbling out his cheeks, adding to the mess on his face. His own valve was fluttering and clenching around the false spike, trying to get the stimulation he needed. The vibrations weren’t nearly enough to get him off, but it kept his charge up to a near uncomfortable level. He pulled his wet faceplates away from Whirl and looked over his shoulder at their audience. 

“Tailgate.” He keened, knees shaking. He wasn’t really fond of begging, but he’d do it in a sparkbeat if it meant he’d finally get his release. Tailgate hummed in thought and took a moment to admire the sight before him. Whirl was spread out, thighs parted obscenely wide, and now that Cyclonus wasn’t in the way, Tailgate could see his quivering valve clenching on nothing, the little bud of his node swollen and glowing with arousal. He looked up Cyclonus’ stained faceplates and decided to take pity on the mech.

“You ready for round two?” Tailgate questioned the bot. He knew the answer, of course. Whirl and Cyclonus both had a lot of stamina, and it always took several rounds to tire either of the larger mechs out. Cyclonus looked up at him and gave a weak nod in response. “Good, now I want you up there with Whirl, and open your panel.” Cyclonus obliged, shakily crawling back up to Whirl’s level, panel snapping back to release a flood of lubricants. The purple mech simply couldn’t find it in himself to be embarrassed about the mess he was making anymore.

“Beautiful.” Tailgate murmured from across the room. “I wanna try something new, ‘k? Take that false spike out and press your valves together. No using your fingers.” Cyclonus hesitated, not understanding the request at first. Tailgate wanted him to what? The minibot usually knew what he was talking about, and Cyclonus trusted him. Eventually he nodded, sliding down Whirl’s body to twine their legs together. It was a bit difficult to do with the blue mech squirming and bucking his hips, but eventually Cyclonus was able to maneuver Whirl in a way that allowed their valves to slide together. 

Cyclonus let out a quiet gasp as he ground his valve against Whirl’s, the motion made easier with the copious amount of fluids leaking from his arousal. The position was hard to hold, but it still felt pleasant enough. Over the deafening roar of their cooling fans, both Cyclonus and Whirl heard the quiet snikt as Tailgate’s panel finally opened.

“C’mon Cyc, I know you can do it harder than that!” Tailgate didn’t let his hands wander down toward his erect spike, not yet. Cyclonus bit his lip and rolled his hips a bit harder. Whirl tossed his helm back and muttered a few curses. He had to admit, the friction felt amazing, and Whirl’s valve felt so warm against his own. He knew that his own body must have been scalding, jets just ran hotter than other builds. Whirl didn’t seem to care just so long as that heat stayed on him.

Whirl whimpered when more lubricant dribbled out and down his aft to the berth. He wanted more than this! His valve was clenching on nothing, and the empty feeling was driving him insane! He tried to rub his node against Cyclonus, but he was too wet to get any sort of friction. Whirl didn’t really know what to do, unable to move well with his servos bound over his helm. This was torture!

Tailgate grinned behind his mask at his lovers. He could feel their frustration in their EM fields, flicking wildly around his own. He knew what they wanted, but they would just have to wait. He still kept his hands away from his spike. There was no need for that, not yet. He instead lazily dragged his servos over his chasis, letting his own charge build slowly. He could tell that both mechs still had a lot of charge to burn before he’d get involved, but a part of him really wanted to move things along. Watching them rub against each other was hot, but fragging them himself was way hotter. 

Despite his tiny size, Tailgate still had an impressive spike. It was enough to pleasure the mechs in front of him, but he’d still added some upgrades to make the whole experience better for both parties. His spike was thick enough to stretch a mech of Cyclonus’ size, and long enough to reach his ceiling node if he thrust hard enough. He’d added ridges and biolights and all sorts of things, much to both Cyclonus’ and Whirl’s delight. 

He knew that the sight of it alone could arouse his lovers. He could see it when Cyclonus cast a hungry glance down his frame, grinding his hips just a bit harder against Whirl’s. He was positive Whirl had a similar look in his optic had he actually been able to see it. He’d have to fix that, maybe install a hook in his room to tie Whirl up properly. Perhaps he’d ask Rung where he’d gotten his. Kinky fragger.

“You can use your fingers now, but don’t put anything inside yet. Not until you overload again.” Cyclonus gave a grateful nod and shoved a hand down between his thighs. He ran his claws roughly over his swollen node, hips jumping a bit. He heard Whirl tug at his handcuffs in dismay, pushing his hips desperately against Cyclonus’, his valve aching for attention. 

Cyclonus leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the barrels protruding from the copter’s chest. He suckled and bit at them until Whirl was moaning his name. He rubbed at his node a bit harder, pinching and rolling it between his fingers. He pressed the back of his servo to Whirl’s valve, squeezing it between the two of them. He gave one last hard tug to his node and cried out as his overload crashed through his systems. 

He moved his fingers down to massage the fluttering rim of his valve, trying to prolong his overload, the lubricant spurting from between his claws and all over Whirl’s thighs. He buried his face in Whirl’s chasis, teeth clamping down hard, no doubt denting the metal. Whirl bowed off of the berth and followed Cyclonus, their combined fluids puddling beneath his aft. Tailgate watched as they settled down, Cyclonus’ claws squashed between his own thighs, the jet too dazed to pull them away.

“Open your other panel Whirl.” Tailgate shimmied in his chair to find a more comfortable position. His spike was fully pressurised now, desperate for any kind of stimulation, but Tailgate denied himself. He knew he only had one overload in him, and it would have to wait until they were all ready.

Whirl took a moment to process what exactly Tailgate had asked him, but when he did he eagerly popped open the panel covering his spike. His spike sprung free, bumping against his stomach. It may have appeared rather plain compared to Tailgate’s, but it was definitely larger. A glob of transfluid beaded on the head of his spike, slowly dribbling down his length. 

“Ride him, Cyclonus, and go slowly.” Tailgate was now running his servos over his thighs, still avoiding his bobbing spike. Cyclonus held optic-contact with Whirl as he untangled their legs, moving instead to straddle his hips. Whirl groaned, claws pinching uselessly, when Cyclonus leaned back to rub his valve along Whirl’s spike.

His engorged folds parted around the thick spike, coating the length in a layer of pink lubricants. The few ridges on Whirl’s length pulled on the taut rim of Cyclonus’ valve, creating a delicious friction. Whirl ground his hips up in encouragement, growing frustrated with the teasing. The purple jet seemed to take the hint, and he slowly raised up onto his knees, carefully aligning his valve with Whirl’s spike. He used one servo to grip the spike and guide it to his opening, and his other to part swollen lips before lowering himself down. 

Whirl shallowly thrust his hips up when the head of his spike popped through the rim of Cyclonus’ valve. He knew the mech was intentionally going slow to entertain their smaller lover, but he knew that the toy Cyclonus used earlier had stretched him enough to easily take his spike. Whirl really wanted to be able to see what was happening, watch that pretty little valve part and stretch around his spike, but he could settle for watching Cyclonus’ slack jawed face any night. The purple mech poked his tongue to taste the dried lubricant on his faceplates, head lolling to the side.

When he was finally seated on Whirl’s lap, Cyclonus hunched forward, claws latching on to the guns mounted on Whirl’s chasis, careful enough to not bend or damage the metal in any way. He slowly rose up off of the grey spike, rolling the calipers of his valve over the bulbous head, and then slammed his hips down, once again hilting the spike within himself. Both mechs cried out, Whirl’s hips nearly lifting Cyclonus off of the berth. The purple mech took only a moment to savor the feeling before grinding his hips in tight circles, the tip of Whirl’s spike jammed up against his ceiling node. His wings twitched against his backplates, and his helm fell back to expose his neck cables.

He immediately set a brutal pace, impaling himself on the ex-wreckers spike, hitting his ceiling node dead on every time. Whirl did his best to thrust his hips up into Cyclonus, easily matching his pace. When Cyclonus’ knees began to buckle, Whirl planted his peds firmly on the berth and took over thrusting into the jet. Cyclonus merely braced himself, riding each of the wrecker’s hard thrusts with abandon. His peds curled and he keened as he ground down into each harsh thrust, trying to stimulate his throbbing node.

Whirl could feel that Cyclonus was close. The jet’s valve was clenching harder on his spike, and he could feel the lubricants running down his aft in thick rivulets. A few more hard thrusts and Cyclonus was screaming out his completion. Whirl could barely make out his designation as the jet’s engines roared to life, filling the room with heat and ozone. His valve clamped down impossibly tight and lubricant squirted out around Whirl’s spike. Whirl thrust into the clenching heat, struggling to prolong his lover’s overload. He gave a few more sporadic thrusts up into the jet before he reached his own overload. Cyclonus hissed as his valve milked the spike of it’s transfluid, the combination of their fluid flowing out of the stuffed hole. Whirl was pretty sure that by the end of the night, the stuff would be leaking off onto the floor.

Cyclonus could feel the need for recharge arising, but a pair of tiny servos on his waist quickly brought him out of his post-overload haze. Aparently Tailgate had finally decided to join them, perhaps sensing how exhausted his lovers were getting. 

“Think you can fit one more?” The minibot piped up from behind Cyclonus, one tiny servo reaching down to rub soothingly at the stretched rim of his valve. The jet shivered, spitting static as his tender rim was over-stimulated.

“Hey, what about me! I’ve been aching for something to fill me up all night!” Whirl complained. Sure, he didn’t mind having the purple jet ride his spike to his spark’s content, but his valve was aching something fierce right now, not having been properly filled yet. 

“Don’t worry, love, I haven’t forgotten.” Tailgate stretched his arm over Cyclonus’ shoulder and waved around the toy from earlier that evening. Cyclonus’ faceplates heated and he averted his gaze. Tailgate had tried to take a washrag to it, but some of Cyclonus’ lubricants were still caked on to the false spike. Whirl’s optic lit up at the sight of the monstrous spike, and he let his thighs splay out, exposing his heated equipment to the minibot. 

Tailgate palmed at Whirl’s valve, rubbing the viscous fluid around before slipping a few servos in. The minibot’s hands were small, so Whirl had no problem taking them. He slipped his other servo up and tugged at the rim of Cyclonus’ valve, slipping one tiny servo in between Whirl’s spike and the loosened valve walls. It would be a tight fit, but Tailgate knew that with enough preparation, Cyclonus would be able to take them both. 

Only a few more servos and Tailgate had his entire fist inside the ex-wrecker. Whirl was incoherent at that point, his charge skyrocketing when Tailgate spread his fingers, testing the elasticity. He deemed the larger bot ready, and slowly pulled his servo out, scraping as many nodes as he could reach on the way out. Whirl whined at the emptiness, shifting his hips and jostling his spike around in Cyclonus’ stuffed valve. The purple jet jumped at the sensation and Tailgate took the opportunity to shove another servo inside, scissoring his fingers and massaging the slick walls, anything to help loosen the jet up.

“Sssh Almost ready, okay?” Tailgate gathered up some of the fluids dripping down Whirl’s aft to lube up the false spike, and he slowly pressed it to the mech’s twitching hole. He rubbed the head between the lips before shoving it in to the hilt. Whirl jumped, nearly sending the jet lodged on his lap toppling over. He cried out, finding pleasure in the sting of the sudden stretch.

“T-Tailgate!” Whirl is almost sobbing at this point, the feedback from both his valve and spike almost too much for him to handle. Tailgate pulled his fingers from Cyclonus’ stretched hole, rubbing his servos over the gaping rim one last time before climbing up the berth behind the larger mech. He used one servo to work the false spike in as deep as it would go before flipping it on, using the other he pushed Cyclonus forward until he was pressed bodily into Whirl’s chassis.

“Spread yourself for me, Cyclonus.” Tailgate rubbed the jet’s trembling wings encouragingly, nuzzling his faceplates into the appendages. Cyclonus eagerly reached a clawed servo behind himself, spreading his swollen folds for Tailgate. The small mech hummed his approval and lined his spike up.

“Let me know if it’s too much, Cyclonus, understood?” When the purple mech nodded in understanding, Tailgate slowly pushed in beside Whirl. The jet felt impossibly tight, valve straining to take the extra girth, and Tailgate cooed quietly, rubbing a servo over Cyclonus’ twitching abdomen. Cyclonus whined, rubbing over the rim of his valve to help ease the discomfort. It ached, but he knew the pain would ebb soon. The feeling of being stuffed to capacity was almost distracting enough. Almost.

“You look so pretty, Cyclonus, all filled up and stretched around us. Don’t you think so, Whirl?” Whirl took a moment to realize Tailgate was speaking to him, but when he took one look at the slack-jawed bot drooling all over his chasis, he nodded.

“Y-yeah, Cyclonus, real pretty.” Whirl pulled on the cuffs. He wanted so desperately to reach out and hold the mech, to rub his claws over those wings and worship him properly. Cyclonus’ bleary optics focused on his, the jet’s lubricant stained faceplates tinging pink. Whirl wished he had a mouth so he could kiss the mech silly. 

“Do you think you can overload one more time for me?” The minibot’s voice drew the attention of the larger bots away from one another. Cyclonus rippled his valve in response, rhythmically squeezing down on the two spikes. Tailgate moaned and pressed Cyclonus down again. He slowly pulled his hip back, each spike ridge slipping out of the hole with a wet pop, before snapping them forward again. 

Cyclonus’ voice shorted out, and beneath him Whirl howled. Tailgate set a brutal space, flipping the vibrator up to it’s highest setting. Whirl’s body trembled with the force of his overload, spike emptying into Cyclonus’ stuffed valve, his own clenching painfully hard around the vibrator. 

At the feeling of hot transfluid flooding into his valve, Cyclonus’ own charged peaked. His valve clamped down on the spikes buried within, lubricant forcing its way out and squirting all over the berth. The force of it all knocked the poor mech offline, body going limp in Tailgate’s hold. The smaller mech thrust only one more time before joining his lovers, servos digging into the metal skirts on Cyclonus’ hips.

When his charge dissipated, Tailgate took only a few moments to enjoy his post-overload haze before forcing himself up. He flipped off the vibrator and gently pulled it from Whirl’s valve. He climbed up the berth, rubbing the top of Cyclonus’ helm on his way, and gently undid the cuffs around Whirl’s wrists, giving his aching joints a little nuzzle. Whirl gingerly sat up, scooping Cyclonus out of his lap and laid him down on the berth beside himself. The purple mech’s optics flickered on, and he gingerly curled up into Whirl’s side, wincing when the ache in his valve made itself apparent. 

“Ssshh you’re okay.” Tailgate whispered to both of them. He nuzzled his faceplates against Whirl’s, and then crawled down to rub gently at Cyclonus’ tender valve. Tailgate took a small tube of solvent from his subspace, something he had picked up from Ratchet earlier that day. He massaged it into the abused valve, taking care to keep his prodding as gentle as possible. The larger mech sighed, too tired to feel any arousal at the action. 

“You did so good, Cyclonus, and you too Whirl.” He took out a cleaning rag and tried his best to wipe away the mess on all of their paneling, the berth could wait. He wormed his way up in between them, snuggling in for a bit of recharge himself. In the morning maybe they could all get in the washracks together and give eachother a good wax before heading to Rodimus’ meeting. Or maybe they could just sleep in and enjoy one another’s company for a bit longer. Rodimus wouldn’t mind if they didn’t show up, right?


End file.
